


An Impolite Understanding

by Percygranger



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Kink Meme, M/M, Spanking, Under-negotiated Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-22
Updated: 2014-06-22
Packaged: 2018-02-05 18:47:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1828433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Percygranger/pseuds/Percygranger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They don't talk about it, but John enjoys it too much to stop.</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Impolite Understanding

**Author's Note:**

> Originally prompted at the [Sherlock BBC kinkmeme](http://sherlockbbc-fic.livejournal.com/21766.html?thread=130248966#t130248966).
> 
> Thank you to my betas [pandoras_chaos](http://archiveofourown.org/users/pandoras_chaos) and [ureshiiichigo](http://archiveofourown.org/users/ureshiiichigo) for your help getting this ready to post.

John turned the page of his newspaper, feet comfortably propped up on the coffee table, listening with contentment to the sounds of Sherlock messing about with his lab equipment. He was almost finished reading as Sherlock’s footsteps approached. John looked up and sighed, resigning himself to having his attention taken. Sherlock’s face had a certain sly expression John was starting to associate with initiating...whatever this was.  It wasn’t sex, properly, but sexual? John couldn’t deny that. He put his feet on the ground, letting the newspaper drop to the floor.

Sherlock covered the last bit of distance between them with quick steps, insinuating himself into John’s lap with what John would swear was a purr. John could feel the body draping over his legs relax (face down, belly and groin in John’s lap, arse ever-so-perfectly situated, because Sherlock didn’t seem to have any shame when it came to this). Sherlock rested his weight on John, pinning him in a way John had discovered he liked.

John palmed over Sherlock’s trouser-clad arse, then dragged his fingers in, relishing the small pleased noises Sherlock made. Then he slapped lightly, getting the feel for the motion of it again. Starting was always awkward, the sound too loud, the concussion as his hand hit almost unpleasant. But that faded as he continued, scattering small hits across the sinful, rounded expanse of Sherlock’s bum. An idea occurred, and he traveled lower, tapping Sherlock’s thighs experimentally.

Sherlock jerked. “Oh. Yes.”

John smiled. “Take these off.” He tugged at Sherlock’s waistband, untucking his shirt.

Sherlock obeyed with alacrity, arching up on knees and elbows to undo his flies. John helped him push his trousers down past his knees, taking his underwear with it. Sherlock managed to unbutton his shirt and get it off nearly as quickly.

John was starting to get hard now, the movement of Sherlock’s hips against his groin did most of the work, but the closeness and Sherlock’s eagerness also played a part. They’d kept underwear on until recently, John’s skittishness about doing this with a man slowly wearing down. John had to admit he rather liked seeing the marks he made with nothing to interfere.

Sherlock settled down again, and John spent a few moments to orient himself with Sherlock’s bare, pale arse. He dragged his nails across one buttock and thigh, and Sherlock moved into it. John slapped the lines he’d just made, ignoring Sherlock’s reaction to focus on overlapping his handprints, moving towards Sherlock’s legs. Sherlock whined and tried to move as John reached his mid-thigh, but John automatically rested his tingling hand on Sherlock’s thigh as he braced his other forearm against Sherlock’s shoulders.

Sherlock let out a breath, and stilled.

“Good. Feel free to make noise,” John said, a bit wry. He’d always liked partners who were vocal in their appreciation.

Sherlock grumbled, and pushed his arse back slightly, rocking into John’s hand. John shook his head and continued. Flatmate, drama queen detective, and masochist; John wasn’t sure which he preferred, honestly.

John did like seeing Sherlock’s skin change colors, though, and worked on bringing up a rosy blush to his buttocks. He kept it light at first, alternating between cheeks. Sherlock stayed obligingly limp, body warm against John’s thighs, only making an occasional noise. It was nice, but John wasn’t satisfied; he wanted a real reaction.

Focusing on one side for a time, John spiraled a pattern inward until he reached the center of the plump flesh. Working down to that lovely sensitive place where buttock and thigh met, John hit it repeatedly, harder, feeling Sherlock groan and tense. Continuing until he felt Sherlock inhale to complain, John stopped, gently rubbing over and around. Admiring his work, John played with the side he’d just covered. It was flushed with a vibrant shade, more alarming than the other, which only had a slight pink tint.

“Time to even you up…” He said, almost to himself, and set to work on the other cheek. He started in the middle this time, giving it a few heavy spanks before tapping elsewhere, then returning.

Sherlock was jerking in his lap, legs moving restlessly, noises deep and short, sweat beginning to glisten on his back.

Achieving parity between sides again, John took a moment to tease, fingertips tracing the marks he’d made, enjoying the heat of the punished areas versus the relative cool of Sherlock’s back and thighs. He sighed happily as he pushed at Sherlock’s pink skin and Sherlock whined, wiggling.

It didn’t feel like enough yet. John couldn’t say why. They’d done this much before and called it good; Sherlock rising to put his clothes back on and continue his work. He seemed to sit more after; a habit that made John grin. But Sherlock wasn’t going anywhere. His body was still obligingly limp, waiting for whatever John decided to do.

As an experiment, John returned to Sherlock’s thighs, intentionally catching the sensitive inside skin in his slap. Sherlock groaned and somehow relaxed even further, spreading his legs slightly to give John access.

“Mm, like that, do we?” John murmured, and started slowly, pacing a good dozen blows precisely. He waited until Sherlock started to move impatiently before catching him with a stinging slap. Maybe it was a bad policy to reward Sherlock’s movements, no matter how it was couched as punishment, but John liked making Sherlock wait. Liked seeing the man below him figure out the pattern, try to manipulate it, before he changed it up again.

Sherlock’s thighs gave him plenty of fresh, unblemished skin to work with, and John felt like taking his time. He patted down one, then gave it a few hard strokes. The bounce of the firm skin and muscles underneath pleased him, so he did it again, working Sherlock up. The sounds that had felt too loud before were now his just due for the work he was putting in. He cupped his hand to make the noise louder, coincidentally increasing the sting. Sherlock seemed to appreciate the new intensity of the blows, flinching away, but rocking back for more.

When Sherlock finally gasped, “Please!” John was ready for a break, too, and soothed his partner with soft touches, tracing patterns on his abused thighs, squeezing his lovely buttocks. John felt a bit as though he were jumping off a cliff sometimes, openly appreciating Sherlock’s body. Being able to touch it, hurt it, caress it, to make Sherlock tremble with a touch and a few words. He’d never be able to describe what it meant to him. He stroked up and down the long lines of Sherlock’s back, the sweat making it easy to glide across the smooth skin.

“Good, good.” He crooned. Sherlock’s gasps slowed, his chest moving against John’s thighs. John could feel hints of Sherlock’s physical arousal now, something firm occasionally bumping against his leg. He ignored it the same way Sherlock did. John didn’t touch himself either (wouldn’t until this was done). This wasn’t about that kind of pleasure. Although John definitely enjoyed the slow burn of arousal that came with a good spanking.

John considered his handiwork. Sherlock’s thighs were blotchy. It was fine, but not up to the standards he’d begun to develop.

“Just a bit more, I think.” John said. He knew better than to make it a question now.

Sherlock shuddered and groaned, body flexing across John’s lap. Sherlock pushed his head further into the sofa cushions. His body was braced, arse presented enticingly, marked thighs parted, soft balls barely visible. John’s mouth went dry. He licked his lips and cleared his throat, then rubbed Sherlock’s backside and thighs encouragingly, marking the spots he wanted to fill in.

He set off with a fast stroke, going for all the places he hadn’t covered properly yet, giving Sherlock a few hard slaps to his buttocks as well to remind him he hadn’t forgotten that area. It turned into an ebb and flow, alternating between soft chafing and harsh spanks. Occasionally he’d pinch and prod, squeeze and claw, just to milk a few more sounds out of Sherlock’s mouth. The insides of his thighs were excellent for this. Sherlock would jump and tense and nearly sob when John focused there.

John was breathing hard, his hand hurting as he gave Sherlock the last few punishing blows. He felt satisfied this time, pleased at his work. Sherlock seemed to sense John was finished, because he slumped at the end, no longer presenting himself, breaths whining on the exhale.

John slumped a bit with him, aching hand rubbing up and down automatically. He squeezed Sherlock’s shoulder with his other hand. It was a congratulation of sorts, for taking what John could dish out. He shifted his legs, wincing at the pins and needles in one. Sherlock’s body tensed, and he stretched over John, pushing himself up to kneel beside him.

“All right?” John asked, focused on Sherlock’s movements, trying to keep his mind off the strain of his cock inside his trousers.

Sherlock’s mouth stretched into a smile. “Yes, fine.” His eyes were half-lidded, face flushed and sweaty. His hair was mussed, too, curls a bit haphazard. John felt something stir in his chest at the sight. He’d done that.

John watched perhaps too avidly as Sherlock slid back into his pants, half hard cock looking slightly obscene covered by the stretchy fabric. The trousers didn’t help it much, either, as tight as they were.

John cleared his throat. “I’ll be in my room.” For all that this was sexual, Sherlock had never expressed interest in getting off together. John didn’t mind. Time was on their side, and he hadn’t wanked like this since he was a teenager.

Sherlock’s smile turned into a smirk as he buttoned his shirt. “I’ll be here.” With one last penetrating look, he turned back to his table. Something bubbled on the burner. Sherlock took a seat in front of it, hand reaching for a pen. John grinned, and walked carefully away

 


End file.
